Wednesday, January 20, 2010

You are what you drive

"Meet my demons head on." That's what I say. Confront roadblocks and bumps that detour my well-articulated life. Causus interruptus. Deal with it. Move on. No rear view mirror. Shift into drive. MapQuest the future. Leave the baggage behind.

Even though I don't live in SoCal, I am what I drive. A vintage classic handling the road with the seeming grace of a well-manicured machine. But the curves, my curves, are getting a bit out of control. Need to lighten the load. So more importantly ... I am what I eat. My carburetor needs adjusting. My chassis toned. Must shed 15 pounds. Now. Formerly a sleek Jag XJ, I am morphing into a Mercedes D class. The dictator model. Lenin gave one to Mrs. Mao. A rich people's car for the dowager wife of the people's chair. Parked still in the hutong in front of the Red Capitol Club in Beijing, rusting. Its matronly silhouette framed by the shuttered front hiding the sparkle inside. This needs to stop. Even if the sparkle inside is dimmed during the process.

So starting to today, in earnest, I will (read: WILL) follow Weight Watchers point-counting-carb-watching plan, drink water until my eyes turn yellow and boogy in the basement to the yoga booty ballet DVD until the caboose comes loose. And, and this is the big one, I'll keep myself honest by posting the decrease in increments of 5 pounds ... or gains. Promise.

Cheers (she said lifting a diet ginger ale filled martini glass no olives) to my chassis redefined ... until tomorrow!

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